The Spice Of Life
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Sam loves research and finding answers. Gabriel has always been a fascinating unending equation and Sam is forever frustratingly playing catch-up. There's tattoos, trumpets, and teeth, and Sam works out eventually that he mostly doesn't mind at all.


_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **Continuing my quest to get my minor backlog of Supernatural fics posted, years after writing and abandoning them on my harddrive. Enjoy :)_

* * *

**THE SPICE OF LIFE**

Sam had always asked endless questions, ever since he was a kid. He'd always wanted to know **more – **Why was Dad going out again? Where had that scar come from? Why do we have to kill that? What does that monster eat? Isn't there another way? Once he'd realized that Dad and Dean couldn't (or wouldn't) tell him what he wanted to know, he'd quickly gotten hooked on libraries and bookstores. That was where he found his answers. Unlike Dean, he could patiently look through obscure texts for hours without bitching about it, and gaze at faded cramped cursive and barely legible microfilms, even if his body was hurting and his eyes were watering. Because he knew that he'd find an answer at the end of it. Sometimes, he even got there quicker than Dad did.

It wasn't just the fulfillment of finally getting answers that kept Sam interested in researching. It was the whole process of piecing together scraps of information and burying himself in the reading. It made him feel like, on some level, that he was doing something that normal people did – visiting libraries, reading books, learning things. For a few hours, Sam could pretend that he was like everybody else in the library. And later it turned out that researching was a life skill not limited to just hunting. School and then college work really hadn't been much of a shock or a stretch after days spent amongst dusty books, trying to identify a creature from a scrap of scales. It made him a good student and one of the best researchers in the hunting field.

As he got older, Sam discovered that the research he enjoyed most was investigating topics that had so far proved incomprehensible. It meant something completely unknown, something that nobody else had been granted access to yet and he could be the first.

Gabriel was a conundrum like that.

He was an archangel. God's Messenger. Part of something incomprehensibly holy. Only he was twisted up with pagan and blood rites and sacrifice. That hadn't disappeared because he'd been unmasked. It was almost as bone deep in him as Heaven was. He was a living breathing blasphemy. And he knew it; it was there in his flippant words and the cracks in his smile.

He had more secrets. Sam didn't need to research to realize that. Important things were hidden under Gabriel's jokes and vicious pranks. Sam knew that game well- he'd grown up with Dean after all. But now Gabriel claimed to be on their side. Castiel supported him, explaining that he could see the truth in Gabriel's grace. As unbelievable as it was, Gabriel genuinely wanted to help.

Sam stared at him, at the unrevealed layers that weren't decoded yet. He wanted to solve them all, he wanted to unlock Gabriel. It could possibly save their lives at some point, he'd pointed out to a disgruntled Dean. It was a good enough reason to put up with the archangel. You never knew when one tiny sliver of information could be the key to saving yourself, your family, or the world, especially when dealing with angels. Gabriel had a lot of knowledge that couldn't be found anywhere else. Also, selfishly, Sam couldn't leave a puzzle unsolved. He just couldn't. It was possible that his addictive tendencies had started a long time before Ruby had ever opened up her veins for him.

Gabriel needed to be solved. He was fascinating. It gave Sam something to fill his spare time with, and gave him a break from focusing on the horrors of the incoming apocalypse. It was also the perfect excuse to not be in the same room as Dean and Cas too often. All that eye-fucking and meaningful not-words was building and he did not want to be there when it peaked.

* * *

Gabriel's reading habits weren't restricted to World Weekly News and comics.

Sam learned that after a long and tiring ghoul hunt. There'd been more slime and guts than usual, and he had opened the motel room door to find Gabriel sprawled across his bed, leafing through a large gilt-edged book. A book that definitely didn't belong to the Winchesters. It looked old, possibly important, weighty. That was a surprise. An unexpected side of Gabriel to add to the big picture.

"Dull, dull, dull." Gabriel turned another page. "But you should have seen him after his first cocktail. Never could keep his pants on."

Sam tried to read the book's cover but Gabriel kept it pressed to the bed and smirked like he knew exactly what Sam was doing. He arched his back in a languorous stretch. He made everything look pornographic. Sam quickly tried to concentrate instead on shucking off his disgustingly sodden shoes. Because if there was one train of thought that Gabriel was sure to grab onto and not let Sam forget about, it was that one.

Thankfully, Gabriel was distracted by the smell. "Geez, Sammy. Did you enjoy bathing in sewage?"

Before Sam could make his way to the bathroom, Gabriel snapped in frosted drinks in lurid colors, one appearing in Sam's free hand. The coldness of the glass made Sam's fingers tingle. His mouth watered – his throat had been burning for the past hour thanks to smoke inhalation and of course Gabriel knew that. The taste was perfect and refreshing and not as alcoholic as Sam'd expected. It was exactly what he needed.

"Thanks."

Gabriel snapped himself in the latest World Weekly News and the last two months' worth of _Playboy_. Not so unexpected. The book had probably been some version of the Good Sex Guide.

* * *

Gabriel could speak every language known to man, and a few others that weren't. It made sense; Gabriel was God's Messenger. It was the way he made the words sound that surprised Sam. Whatever language Gabriel spoke – from showing off his obscure Middle Eastern dialect knowledge and the sounds of Amazon River tribes to French and Dutch – the words flowed like music. It always sounded beautiful. That was the only word for it. Sam was transfixed by how easily the words danced off Gabriel's tongue, every single dialect sounding natural.

He was also sure that some of what Gabriel said to him wasn't part of any translation Sam was working on, not by the suggestive movements of Gabriel's eyebrows.

Gabriel could play music too. Cas let it slip one evening, when Dean was twisting the radio dial and some kind of slow and easy jazz slid out of the speakers as he changed stations.

"That is Gabriel's instrument," Cas said wonderingly aloud, suddenly looking more awake and almost mournful.

"Gabriel plays the horn?" Dean snorted.

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's his symbol, Dean. In Revelation, he's supposed to blow it before the final battle."

It was something Sam had briefly read about during his early research into Gabriel, but he'd passed over it quickly. It hadn't seemed relevant then. Now though, he had questions. Had Gabriel played in Heaven? Had God enjoyed his music? Why was Cas looking so upset?

"Cas?"

"It has not been heard in Heaven since Gabriel left," Cas replied, sitting back again.

He looked out the window, his mouth hard and unhappy. But he didn't ask them to change the station. Dean didn't touch the dial.

One night, when Sam was suffering through a dream of Lucifer cutting Bobby up, limb by torturous limb, he thought he heard a trumpet. The notes were pure and clear and cut through the blood and screams. That had never happened before.

It was calling to him. Sam clung to the sound. He tried to follow it, an oasis in the pain.

He woke up alone, with the music ringing in his ears.

* * *

Sometimes, Gabriel had tattoos. Sam caught sight of complex black lines decorating Gabriel's wrist. They definitely hadn't been there yesterday when Gabriel had been in short sleeves and no jacket. That had been new too.

"See something you like?" Gabriel smirked at him.

Sam glared. It hadn't taken long for Gabriel to catch onto the 'Sam finds Gabriel fascinating' train of thought that now occupied Sam so frequently. And the archangel had immediately begun a never-ending avalanche of innuendos. That wasn't news, unlike the tattoo.

"What is that?" Sam asked, before Gabriel could begin some kind of sonnet about his own physical virtues. It wouldn't be the first time. "It's new."

"Awww, you've been checking me out," Gabriel cooed, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Doesn't it heal over? Disappear?"

"Of course." Gabriel looked at him like he was an adorably slow child and wasn't that precious? Sam gritted his teeth. "That's the beauty of it, Sammy."

Sam tried to commit the pattern to paper, to look it up, because no matter how casual Gabriel was about it, he wouldn't put just any pattern onto his skin, no matter how temporary it was. It would mean something, maybe something important. But the image blurred in Sam's memory and all he could draw was a loose collection of lines and the smooth texture of Gabriel's skin. It looked oddly soft, mortal. It was so far from the truth.

Sam wondered privately how the skin would feel, the heat of it. An archangel impossibly wrapped up and contained in tactile humanity. It had to feel like nothing else. Sam's hands itched to find out.

Sometimes he caught sight of Enchoian painted across the back of Gabriel's neck. That was the only tattoo that repeatedly reappeared. But Sam couldn't translate its meaning.

He noted down all the tattoos that he could. For research purposes; delving into what angels were like, what their vessels were affected by or not. He was putting the finishing touches to the latest drawing when he smelled cool mint and then Gabriel's warm mouth was close to his ear.

"If you wanted my body, you only had to ask."

There was a caress of fingers against Sam's neck. They drew out Enochian – Gabriel's tattoo on human skin. Sam's skin. Enochian always meant something powerful. Sam's heart felt like it was beating in his mouth. The hand squeezed his neck. Then all that was left was mint.

* * *

Gabriel was protective of Castiel. Sam saw how Gabriel narrowed his eyes whenever Dean was particularly stupid and thoughtless and Cas' expression flashed briefly with something unbearably new and tender like pain. The pranks Gabriel played on Dean after moments like that were always extra vicious.

Gabriel loved his family. He loved them so much that he hadn't wanted to see them fight, tearing themselves apart. So he'd torn himself apart instead. Now he preserved the scraps he'd been given.

Sam found him by the Impala, looking like he was contemplating something Dean was going to hate.

"He's still getting over the rash, Gabriel," Sam reminded him.

"So he thinks."

Sam shook his head. Gabriel mocked Castiel endlessly – his dress sense, his attitude, the way he stared at Dean – but he didn't cause Cas pain. Unlike Dean. Sam thought of a hundred bars and brawls and pool cues and words that cut like rusty razors - all that he'd done when people had hurt his brother.

"My brother's a moron," he offered up, leaning against the car. "But so's yours."

Gabriel snorted, finally turning his attention away from the Impala. Thank God. A road trip with Dean after his baby was messed with was always torture. As Gabriel knew.

"Makes you wonder what their kids would be like," Gabriel replied, a dangerously thoughtful look overtaking his face.

"No, Gabriel!"

Surprisingly, Gabriel obeyed. He pouted, silent for a minute. Then he grinned.

"I know you've wondered what our kids would..."

Sam's skin flamed. Oh God. "Just…shut up, please?"

Gabriel's hooting laughter and heated looks followed Sam into his motel room and folded into dreams that Sam was absolutely never going to admit to. Gabriel had kids from his time as Loki. If he'd been Loki then. Had he always been Loki? Sam wondered about that, about the concept of Gabriel as a father. In the past, present, and future. Just idle thoughts, for research purposes only.

He heard a chuckle as he woke up. He definitely didn't dream that.

Dean's rash had cleared up by the morning. And the Impala hadn't suffered any damage, this time. However, it wasn't AC/DC that blasted out of the stereo when Dean slotted a tape in.

_You make me feel real good_

_We can do it 'til we both wake up_

Sam thumped his head back and closed his eyes. There was no way Dean was going to believe that Sam wasn't starting another prank war. Fantastic. Thanks, Gabriel.

* * *

Gabriel enjoyed drinking spirits and beer as much as florescent cocktails full of paper umbrellas. He never had a hangover.

He liked artwork and sculpture, even if he was dismissive about their creators. He'd met them all. Sometimes without any message from God. He was there because he wanted to be. Because he couldn't stay away from their work.

Dean had no clue what Sam was talking about when he mentioned Gabriel's tattoos.

Huh.

More often than not now, Sam found that he'd been mysteriously gifted with body art. Without laying a hand on Sam, Gabriel was impossibly making ink appear on him in hard- to-reach places. Sam had no clue how he ended up with pink roses outlined on his hip, or graphic anatomically incorrect porn on his thighs. He scrubbed both off immediately. It stank of Gabriel, who smirked whenever he saw Sam and asked faux-innocently if Sam wanted to show and tell with the class.

There was Enochian on the back of Sam's neck in blue ink one day, staring at him backwards out of the bathroom mirror. Sam stared back until Dean banged on the door, hollering for him to get out of there dammit because he needed to piss.

Every week, there were simple and mysterious black marks on the insides of Sam's wrists. Enochian. Clean flowing symbols. Sam stared at them hardest of all as they disappeared under coarse motel soap.

No matter how many books he paged through, Sam couldn't find a translation. It stayed stuck in his head, like one of Dad's old tapes playing on repeat. Something important enough that Gabriel left it on him repeatedly and never talked about it.

He found himself endlessly tracing over the wrist ink whorls with his fingers. It was becoming a habit.

* * *

The more Sam reshaped his image of Gabriel, the more certain things became clear.

One, their lives had hit very similar touchstones - escaping their families, being sick of the in-fighting, being different to everybody else there. They'd both willingly gone to extremely dark places, sometimes because they thought it was for the greater good, and sometimes because they just wanted to. Because of how good it made them feel.

Was that why Sam had gravitated towards the archangel? The one person in his life who didn't send him not-so-secret looks of pity, suspicion and worry, who wasn't convinced that at some point Sam was inevitably going to fall off the wagon? The one who'd done it all before and then some.

Two, somewhere amongst the research, pranks, and tattoos, Sam had started thinking of Gabriel as a friend. He wasn't just an annoyance, essential only because of what he knew and what he could do. Sam sought out his company now. He liked spending time with the archangel. When he was with Gabriel – arguing, watching bad movies, refusing the many lurid treats that Gabriel magicked into existence – Sam wasn't pretending that everything was fine, like he often did with Dean and Cas. He could yell, he could get angry and Gabriel didn't stop him. He listened and mocked and then snapped in alcohol and chocolate and told stories of the really old days. His old days, where everything was worse. He always stayed for as long as Sam needed him to.

Sam had been leaning on Gabriel for a while without realizing it and Gabriel hadn't said a word.

The third point, Sam wasn't going to talk about. To Gabriel, or to anybody else. Instead, he hid the Hershey's Kisses that showed up on his pillow each morning. Sometimes, they were singing. But no matter how early it was, the sight of them made Sam pause and relax when he should have been groaning from the ache of hunting.

Gabriel did that.

In his quietest most private moments, Sam contemplated how long Gabriel had been doing that before the chocolate had started turning up.

None of it went into his research notes.

* * *

The world had gone dark. Sam couldn't remember how that had happened. What had he missed? And how had he missed it? He tried opening his eyes. There was a shushing noise and a hand pressed firmly to his forehead.

"Easy there, bucko." Gabriel sounded like he was grinning. But there was something else wound into his voice too. Sam frowned. "Keep 'em closed if you ever want to use those eyeballs of yours again."

Sam tried talking, but a hacking cough erupted up his throat instead. What the hell? The last thing he could remember was arguing with Dean outside that bar and Castiel looming close by the Impala. Gabriel hadn't even been there. Sam remembered that part clearly.

"What happened?" he croaked.

"Dumb Winchester luck." Gabriel had moved further away and there was a loud bubblegum pop punctuating his words. "You and Deano got blindsided by that hag you were tracking. Of course, little brother hasn't got enough juice left to even fly, so I got the call."

A hag. That explained the pain and the bad throat. Sam frowned.

"What did she do to my eyes?"

There was a pause, then a whisper of sound like Gabriel was shutting a book or getting to his feet. His voice was deliberately light when he spoke.

"A spell, a nasty one too. Whole lot of mojo went into it. She must have really hated you. Nice job there, by the way. Dean can't walk right now but he'll get the feeling back by tomorrow."

Dean couldn't walk? Sam tried to sit up, heart racing, but Gabriel firmly pushed him back down.

"Excellent strategy, Sammy - the blind leading the lame. Stellar. Do you need me to tie you down?"

Sam's hands twitched. He tried really hard not to draw attention to how his body was subconsciously reacting to that question. No doubt it wasn't working. He could practically feel Gabriel's grin. He knew exactly which expression the archangel would be wearing. He'd memorized them all.

"Interesting," was Gabriel's only comment. He sounded like he was exceptionally delighted. Sam sighed.

"Gabriel..."

"There's only so much repair work I can do, Sam. I get one molecule wrong in that fragile mostly-human body of yours and you wouldn't like the result," the archangel informed him. "I did what I could. Now it's gotta work its way out of your systems."

"What would have happened if you hadn't...?"

"Oh, every part of your body would have shut down piece by piece 'til you couldn't move at all followed by a nice long painful death. Dean too."

Sam swallowed. That was...creative and horrifying. He flexed his fingers. Yep, he could feel that. His body was fine. Gabriel had stopped it.

It seemed inadequate to say it, but what else was there? "Thanks."

"You owe me, Winchester. I'm talking Godiva chocolates, half milk, half dark, all caramel."

Sam coughed up a laugh and sarcasm. "What, you can't snap in your own? Something wrong with your hands?"

"Oh, Sammy." Suddenly Gabriel was close and there was a faint candy and earth smell. Sam wanted to breathe it in. "You've no idea how **right** they are."

Of course. Sam resisted the urge to bite his lip. Gabriel could see every movement he made. Sam was stuck in the dark, imagining the archangel's movements, trying to piece together his thought process. Fair didn't even come into it.

"Sleep, Sam." Gabriel smoothed a hand through Sam's hair, reassuring and genuine. At least, that was the way it felt.

Then there were fingers on his wrist, tracing invisible ink, familiar sigils. It felt soothing.

Not long after that, there was only the more comforting darkness of sleep.

In the morning, Sam opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Gabriel, staring out into the faint morning light painted across the sky. He couldn't stop the thought – _beautiful _- because Gabriel was. Just because Sam knew it was a bad idea to acknowledge it aloud didn't make it any less true.

Gabriel turned, amused delight just in the corners of his eyes that made Sam want to simultaneously write notes and reach for him. Then, with a filthy gesture, the archangel asked how many fingers he was holding up. Sam hurled a pillow at him.

* * *

"Dude, what's with the staring at Gabriel?"

"I'm not staring. I'm just...trying to understand."

"He's an archangel, he's a dick."

"He changed sides for us, Dean, went against his family."

"So he says."

"Cas doesn't think he's lying."

"Cas's almost out of mojo."

"His Grace isn't faking it, Dean. That's not possible."

"Well, Grace or not, I don't trust the SOB."

"He saved our lives. Remember? Last week?"

"Seriously, is there something I should know? Are you giving him your class ring?"

"Is Cas wearing yours?"

* * *

Gabriel sang. Arias and thuddingly stupid hip-hop. And everything in between. With dancing. Extremely close dancing.

He liked children. Children liked him. They followed him around and told him their secrets. They usually teamed up with him against Dean.

He watched monster trucks and midget wrestling and political debates. He always snapped in concessions and oversweetened his popcorn. Big surprise.

He still had his sword. It was bigger than Castiel's.

Sometimes he smiled without any pretending. Only Sam seemed to notice.

He caught sight of things in the sky that Sam couldn't see - "there's not enough room inside your noggin, Sammy. It'd blow your mind."

The tattoos had stopped appearing on Sam's body. Except one. Sometimes Sam woke up, hyper aware of the (phantom) sensation of Gabriel's fingers on his wrist.

Sam hadn't written any notes in weeks.

* * *

When Sam was researching into the night and his eyes were starting to close and his back was aching, Gabriel popped into existence beside him. He perched on the table, talking and teasing and keeping Sam awake. His fingers toyed with a skewer of steaming herb-rubbed meat. His teeth tore into the delicacy. His tongue flirted with the juices. Sam's eyes were drawn back there time and again. His mouth watered.

"Hungry, Sam?"

* * *

Sam could see heaven written across Gabriel clearer than any tattoo, like it was his bone and cartilage and the pagan part was the muscle and skin. Or maybe that was just through Sam's eyes or maybe he needed more sleep.

"Or maybe you need another drink, Sammy. What's your poison?"

Whenever Sam was sharply reminded somehow of Jess or Ruby, or when there were unattended demon corpses with open veins and the stench made him shudder, those were the nights that Gabriel stayed casually close. He stayed through until the mornings. He didn't eye Sam with suspicion or worry or pity. He just zapped in takeaway and ice cream and insulted Sam and his movie choices until they both apparently fell asleep wherever they were sacked out. It was exactly what Sam needed.

It was one of those nights. Gabriel was almost lying on top of Sam as they both drifted into sleep. Sam had given up trying to make the archangel stay on his side of the bed. His side. Gabriel had a side of the bed.

He had pushed his way in and had made himself at home in Sam's life, he'd made himself important. And Sam hadn't pushed him out. Another puzzle piece slid into place. Sam almost sat up, but paused, not wanting to disturb surprisingly sleepy Gabriel. The angel had his hand possessively clamped to Sam's hip. Sam stared at it for a moment.

He liked Gabriel, liked spending time with him. And Sam wanted him. Not really news anymore, but this was – he **needed** the archangel. If Gabriel disappeared tomorrow, Sam was pretty sure that it wouldn't be long before he was begging for a break from Dean and Cas' company. Bizarrely, Gabriel was exactly the break he needed. He was Sam's breathing room. Okay, maybe not the days he drove Sam crazy, then Dean and Cas were the welcome break. It was a really weird and precarious balance but it worked astonishingly well for Sam. It figured that the time he achieved balance in his life was batshit insane. It was the Winchester way.

"Please, stop thinking so loudly," Gabriel groaned, causing a pleasant buzz through Sam's skin. "Can't your freak-out wait 'til tomorrow?"

Sam narrowed his eyes at the archangel and deliberately and vividly thought about dumping a bucket of ice on him. Gabriel flinched.

"Playing dirty, Sammy. I like it."

He opened his eyes a fraction. Sam could see enough even in the dark to notice that there was slight apprehension hiding behind Gabriel's smirk. Rejection and abandonment. Yeah, Sam got that.

He could feel the pressure at his hip. This was insane, but it was what he wanted and needed. It had been good for him, and the others, and it made his life a lot easier. There really weren't many points in the negative column. Gabriel had more than proved himself.

He tugged Gabriel pointedly closer, shivering a little at the skin on skin contact, and his heartbeat hammered fast. Yeah, he really didn't want to lose Gabriel now.

Gabriel grinned and grabbed Sam's hand.

"Really, Sammy, the only one unaware in this whole scenario was you."

"So this is natural progression?"

Gabriel squeezed his hip with exactly the right amount of pressure. The archangel's next words were suddenly very close to Sam's ear. He could feel Gabriel's breath and was that his tongue?

"No, this is us."

* * *

Sam was writing a new chapter that only he got to read.

Gabriel was comfortable and warm and no matter what he said, he never resisted being a cuddler. He seemed shorter when he was lying down. Sam grinned into his pillow. Gabriel dug him in the ribs.

Archangels got morning breath, but they tasted of chocolate pastries and fresh oranges. Sam mentally catalogued it all, when his brain was online to do so. He twisted his fingers in Gabriel's hair, tugging because he could and because Gabriel liked it. There was so much here that he was never going to stop trying to make sense of. Gabriel looked at him, contemplative, spread out on the bed like an offering.

"Can't file me anywhere, Sammy."

"Yeah. I get that."

"Do you?"

Sam lifted his head. He pressed another kiss to Gabriel's mouth, flicking his tongue. His hands reached for where he'd last seen tattoos on Gabriel's body. He sank his teeth into Gabriel's bottom lip. They weren't gentle people, and that was okay.

Just because some things always stayed out of reach didn't mean they weren't worth pursuing. Gabriel shook his head and pushed back, a fingernail scratching Sam's wrist in a familiar pattern. Sam grinned and made his own enthusiastic marks on Gabriel's skin. They wouldn't stay there for long but that was fine. They still meant something.

_-the end_

_And for those wondering, the song Gabriel magically made play in the Impala was of course 'I Wanna Sex You Up' by Color Me Badd._


End file.
